Hope
by ClareBelle23
Summary: Drabble. Dameron. Cameron's suffering and Damian finds out.  Just getting back into Dameron . Rated due to mentions and detailed descriptions of Bulimia. Please R&R


**Hi guys, **

**I'm back :] and with more Dameron! Sorry for my long, long, long absence! But, I promise you, it will be worth it! I want to thank cameronmitchellcrazy and itslikeimwalkingonbrokenglass/amberleigh90. They, gave me so much encouragement! I also, would like for you guys to check out my tumblr (where the stories will be appearing, everything I've written) .com. There is a password, so just ask for it! via .com. **

**If not, ask on here :]**

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><p>Disgust. That was the word that summed up everything running through the thin boy's mind, utter disgust. Repulsion also summarized things pretty accurately. He stared up at the cracked mirror, watching the tears he couldn't feel, dripping down his face. The foul taste in his mouth wouldn't wane, but instead grew every few moments. He looked bleached of color and life, something, he had grown use to.<p>

The sight of his expression, of himself, made him sick to the stomach. He could feel his knee's doing weak but crumbling now, wasn't an option. If he didn't hurry up, it would never get done. He would never feel better if he did this and never feel better if he didn't; it was a vicious cycle that refused to end.

The foul taste circling his mouth, grew as his lips parted slightly. Screwing his eyes close and willing himself to stop, but knowing he lacked the power too. Unwillingly, his shaking fingers drew his lips apart more and broke the final barrier. It would have been easier, if he lacked a gag reflex or if he was stronger.

He possessed neither of these.

Before he was really ready, his stomach lurched forward. He ripped his still shaking fingers out of his mouth, as everything focused on the sickening bile, ripping up his throat. He heaved forward, finding it hard to breath as the splatter meet his ears. That made it all the worse, as his body folded forward, shaking hands reaching out just in time.

His fingers clutched the side of the too white sink, as he coughed and spluttered; in a vain attempt to rid his body of every substance. His fingers clenched and unclenched almost rhythmically, before his body shuddered once more. His knees gave way too, sending him sprawling to the floor. His head narrowly missed the sink, as his arms came away too.

All the blonde boy could do, was curl up on the floor and wish away the pain. He wished the thoughts would go away, the desires and the urges. All he could do was pray for something to change, for this to get easier and somehow his prayers were never answered. He wrapped his arms around his aching stomach, staring at the locked door as tears continued to flow.

He hated himself, there was no other phrase apt enough to sum up the feelings. There was no other way to be a hundred percent truthful and yet, it hurt him to say it. For years, he repressed all the feelings and begged himself to ignore them. They always found him when he was weakest, bringing him away from the last threads of happiness and pushing him further into despair.

There was no way to avoid it, temptation was too strong.

Every moment his eyes connected with the figure in the mirror, the hatred and disgust increased two-fold. Escaping these feelings, failed to be a viable option. They sulked around in the shadows, refusing to let him be; despite his urgent protests. They would win, every time; so he gave up fighting. It would be pointless, to continue to fight a battle; which he was loosing steadily and lost interest in.

He slowly regained his right mind and began to feel slightly human, in an odd way. That scared him more than anything, how okay he would feel; after the bouts of humiliation and anger swept over him. Somehow, he found his feet and stumbled over to the sink.

His fingers, now sure and steady twisted the tap and watched as the bile flooded down the sink. He was erasing it all, the memories and the feeling of his stomach coming out of his mouth. He scrubbed the sink, repeatedly in a desperate urge and then turned to his appearance.

He tried to look at it, like he was someone else, instead of a reflection. In the most part, he succeeded. Avoiding the parts that stressed him out the most and picked up his toothbrush. Without much thought in the well practiced process, he brushed his teeth with almost obsessive thoroughness. Spitting and brushing away all feral tastes, not to mention smells.

He studies his teeth, hating the faint rotting it was possible to spot. Not that it was an immediate problem, now. Placing his toothbrush back with care, his fingers reached out to unlock the door. The cool metal surprised his nimble fingers, contrasting to how hot it had been in the back of his throat.

They flinched, but he determinedly opened the door. Swinging it open and readying himself to stride into the apartment, he stopped. His foot hadn't even touched the soft carpet, yet he was staring into striking blue eyes. He swallowed and stood still, eyes casting downwards with sure humiliation.

Damian didn't say a word, he didn't need to; for Cameron could read it all. It was pronounced with clarity in his eyes and posture, disappointment being the key. Somehow, Cameron found courage to look into Damian's eyes. A hundred emotions flickered through them, raging between varying degrees of upsetness. He uncrossed his arms from his chest and held out a hand.

Cameron bit his lip and stepped slightly out of the bathroom, unwillingness flooding through him. Damian shook his hand, more urgently in case Cameron didn't take it. This was what Cameron hated the most, the almost sympathy when people knew and truth be told, he foolishly thought he could keep it from Damian.

Damian sighed, in impatience and grabbed Cameron's cold hand and took him out of the small hallway. Cameron found, he was unable to verbalize his question and soaked in the warmth that Damian's mere hand was radiating. He had been craving this, he realized with almost shock. He needed Damian, more than he needed to throw up and rid his body of all bad toxins.

Damian had been distant, further than distant and Cameron, couldn't reach him. They would look at each other, converse in slit conversations and part. Everyday, this would happen without fail. As much as the conversations killed him, Cameron craved some type of interaction with Damian.

Damian sat them down on the couch and held onto his hand, watching the blank tv. The slight but obviously required distance, hurt Cameron but Damian clutching his hand, reminded him of something.

There was still hope.

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><p><strong>I feel like I owe it to you guys to explain why I've been absent (: <strong>

**The thing is, I actually just finished a rather long multi-chapter One Direction fiction. DON'T JUDGE ME, OKAY? **

**If any of you, like my writing but despise the band, you should read it anyway. There's an official site, where my stuff is. Username is clarebelle. LOOK FOR ME LOVES? Also, I will be writing more Dameron, I have missed this ship so much :'( **

**I have no idea whether or not I will finish TPF but, maybe I will. Who knows. I really just want to get this Dameron out of my system and take a break from writing for a while. I have missed it and your encouraging reviews, but definately check out the tumblr. **

**I love you guys xx**


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